


Love Letters from a Madman

by jibberjabber13



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold - Freeform, Crushes, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor shivering isles/oblivion references, Post main quest, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-03-06 14:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibberjabber13/pseuds/jibberjabber13
Summary: The Dragonborn is many things: a hero, a brilliant mage, and a living legend, to name a few. The one thing she can’t seem to get the hang of, though, is dealing with feelings of a romantic nature. Luckily, a certain mad prince can’t stand to see his favorite mortal so down in the dumps and is here to offer some friendly advice.





	1. A Meeting

Although she didn’t care much for bragging, Soriana Manelaud had once—at the young age of 19—bent the universe to her will and changed the destiny of Skyrim irreversibly when she defeated Alduin the World-Eater. Yet despite her many achievements and powers as the Dragonborn, she was still helpless to the more divine forces that enjoyed meddling in the affairs of mortals. This was how she found herself at a tea party hosted by a certain mad daedra on what should have been a normal Tirdas. 

Sheogorath’s summons had taken her to a clearing surrounded by trees of various autumnal colors that shimmered and glowed in the faint mist circling through the air. In the distance was a sun that looked like it was perpetually setting. Soriana was seated at a long table adorned with a white tablecloth and topped with an array of desserts and cheese wheels.

Sheogorath sat across from her in a throne made of sweet rolls (he would periodically pause to take bites out of the armrest). He propped his chin up with his fist. “So, what brings you here, my dear?” he said, then giggled. “That rhymed didn’t it? Why, I’m a poet.” He paused for dramatic effect. “And I didn’t even know it!”

Soriana blinked a few times. “You…you transported me here,” she said. 

An invisible hand materialized to pour a cup of steaming hot tea for her. It smelled like a mixture of pomegranates and pumpernickel bread; with Sheogorath, you never knew what bizarre blend of food or drink you would be forced to ingest.

“Yes…I suppose I did do that.” Sheogorath stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Say, why don’t you ever come visit me in the Isles? It’s a lovely time of year to visit. Lots of beheadings recently, sure, but the weather is quite nice if I do say so myself.”

“Why am I here?” Soriana said, cup of tea halfway to her mouth. Her lips were pressed together in a straight line. “I know I helped you that one time with Pelagius but—”

“Please, this is not the time for questions!” Sheogorath insisted. “ _This_ is a time for eating. You’ve hardly even touched your cake.”

“Right,” Soriana said. She grabbed the fork to the left of her plate and turned it sideways to cut off a bite of cheesecake. As soon as the tines touched the top of the cake, it burst into dozens of blue butterflies that fluttered up and into the air. 

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I believe we should inform the Dragonborn as to why she has been summoned here,” Haskill, Sheogorath’s straitlaced Chamberlain, chimed in. His voice was a constant monotone, and his eyes were perpetually weary. After picking up a finger sandwich with an actual finger in the middle and setting it back down, he reached up to adjust his red collar.

Sheogorath waved a hand in Haskill’s direction as if to dismiss him. “Yes, yes, I’ll get there,” he said with a groan. “Gods, you’re so terribly boring, but what in Oblivion would I do without you, Haskill?”

“Probably live forever, Your Majesty,” Haskill noted. “Given that you are, in fact, immortal.”

“You’re absolutely right! I _do_ get to live forever,” Sheogorath said, “and you’re stuck with me! Forever! Ha!”

Soriana took a sip of her tea and bit back a giggle. She had to admit that the mad prince’s antics could be quite amusing sometimes.

“Well if you have to know, I brought you here because a little birdie told me that you were feeling a bit down, and I just can’t stand to see one of my favorite mortals so blue,” Sheogorath said as he slurped his own tea. He stuck his pinky out as he drank. “Or was it a little Baliwog? A horker, perhaps? Bah, doesn’t matter now.”

Soriana’s cheeks started to burn, and she was grateful that her skin had a natural tan quality to it to avoid a blush. “What advice could you possibly offer me?”

Sheogorath leaned back in his sweet roll throne and placed his hands so they were in front of his chest with fingertips touching. “Why dontcha try me?” he said.

“Well.” Soriana took a deep breath and rolled her eyes up towards the sky, which was still the brilliant color of a sunset. “It all started with a bad Restoration lesson.”

* * *

While Soriana had no difficulty getting along with the other master wizards at the College, Colette Marence was another matter altogether. Although the two shared a mutual Breton heritage, it didn’t do much to bring them closer together, even after seemingly endless training sessions.

When Soriana retreated to Winterhold a year after defeating Alduin, she resumed her studies right away. She intended to accomplish what she’d set out to do two years earlier, before discovering she was the Dragonborn, which was to study and master all five schools of magic. She’d mastered four in the year and a half she had been at the College. Restoration was her final test—and the one school that eluded her understanding.

“No, no, no,” Colette scolded. Her voice had a snide quality about it that made Soriana’s blood pressure rise. “You’re not focusing enough. Try again.”

“I _am_ trying,” Soriana insisted and grunted in frustration.

She held open her palm and concentrated, feeling beads of sweat form on her forehead despite the extreme cold of northern Skyrim. A small light appeared in the center of her hand and emitted a soft ringing noise. With cool, calculated precision, Soriana directed all of her magical energy towards stoking that healing light. Then, just as quickly as it had formed, the light faded away.

Around them, Soriana could hear nothing but the whistle of cold winds and snow encircling the College. She clenched her hand into a fist. Why wasn’t she getting this? She’d practically coasted through all of her previous lessons, as her combination of dragon and Breton blood gave her a unique advantage to learning magic. But so far, she hadn’t even managed to cast a simple healing spell.

Colette shook her head, sighed, and walked several paces away. “Can I ask you a question, Soriana?”

“Um, I guess,” Soriana grumbled. She shoved her fists into her robe pockets and stared down at the stone pieces that made up the College’s courtyard. 

“Have you ever loved anyone? Cared about anyone besides yourself?”

When Soriana looked back up, Colette was staring at her intently. It wasn’t a mean look, though, like she’d expected. It wasn’t judgmental. Just probing.

“Well, I mean I kind of saved the entire planet from being destroyed by Alduin, so I’d say I’ve cared about people before,” Soriana said and rolled her eyes.

“I meant an individual person.”

Soriana tightened her fists. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because,” Colette said as she pulled a flower out of the small pouch that hung on her hips. The petals were shriveled and lifeless, but as soon as she touched the flower’s surface with her finger, it began to bloom. “When you care about other living things, that’s when you unlock the true power of Restoration.”

Soriana raised an eyebrow. “That…sounds kind of like bullshit,” she said. “It’s not like that with any other school of magic. It’s just magical ability, plain and simple.”

Colette stiffened and her harsh edge returned. “I know what you think about Restoration. It’s why you put it off until the very end of your studies,” she said as her voice rose in pitch. “Restoration is a valuable and important school of magic, you know. Just because you and the rest of my colleagues can’t see that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“Of course I know that,” Soriana said impatiently. Then she paused and sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead to wipe away the cold sweat that had accumulated there. “I’m sorry, Colette. I didn’t mean to insult you. I promise I’m trying.”

Colette pursed her lips together in thought.

“I want you to take some time off from training,” she said after a few moments of silence. “Get away from the College. Maybe a change of scenery will give you a new perspective.”

Soriana furrowed her brow. “For how long?”

“As long as it takes you to retrieve these from Arcadia’s in Whiterun,” Colette said, fishing a list of alchemical ingredients from her robe pocket. “Your trip shouldn’t be longer than a week or two, I’d imagine.”

“Seriously? I’m running errands now?”

Colette shrugged. “The archmage asked me to do it,” she said. “And the gods know I don’t want to. Consider it making up for the bad lesson today.”

“Fine,” Soriana grumbled and snatched the paper from Colette. 

It was early evening when she headed back to her dorm, which meant that the sun was already setting in Winterhold. By the time she reached the quarters, it was completely dark. She looked up at the night sky and caught a glimpse of Masser, one of the two brilliant moons that orbited Nirn, wishing in that moment she was far away from the College already.

* * *

The stocky, silent Nord who normally drove the carriage from Winterhold to Whiterun was apparently on some kind of vacation, and his replacement was a short, chatty Bosmer who liked to tell stories. As they bumbled along cobblestone roads with sharp turns that jostled Soriana around, she tuned in and out of his various tales.

“You know, back in Valenwood…my mother used to…and then my brother would say it was just…and that’s how I ended up with that particular nickname!”

“Wow,” Soriana said, faking interest. He was nice, but she hadn’t exactly been in the mood to make constant small talk for several days. Not to mention he had immediately directed the conversation back to himself the few times she’d tried to interject. It was kind of a shame, considering she had some pretty cool stories from being the Dragonborn and all.

“Looks like we’re finally here,” he said as he pulled up to Whiterun stables. “It’s been really nice meeting you!”

“Likewise,” Soriana said as she hopped out of the carriage. Her legs felt unsteady on the ground after having been cramped in the backseat for hours on end. She took a few wobbly steps towards the Bosmer and offered him a large bag of Septims as payment. “Thanks for the ride.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said with a grin. He held up the bag to inspect his earnings. 

While he was preoccupied, Soriana slipped away to head up the road towards the Whiterun gate. Outside stood two guards who recognized her instantly as the Dragonborn and as thane of the hold, a title Jarl Balgruuf had given her after she defeated the city’s first dragon; it was the same night she’d discovered she was Dragonborn.

“Good to see you again, my thane,” the one on the left remarked.

“Good to be back,” Soriana said. “It’s been a while.”

Inside the gate, Whiterun was much the same as it had been before she’d practically holed herself up in Winterhold. The streets were filled with activity and sound, sights and smells. Just to the right of the entrance, Adrianne Avennici pounded a hammer on a steel sword that rested on top of her forge. Clang. Up ahead, Sigurd of Belethor’s General Goods chopped wood. Thunk. And as always, Nazeem chose to harass whoever passed by him.

“Do you get to the Cloud District very often?” he said in a snide voice as Soriana walked down the street. “Oh, what am I saying, of course you—”

He stopped mid-sentence as Soriana turned to stare him down.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry,” he said as the smug grin slid off his face. “Please forgive me, my thane and…Dragonborn.”

“Stuff it where the sun don’t shine, Nazeem,” she said.

She left him standing in silent shock in the middle of the road. Once her back was facing him, she allowed herself a small smile.

Passing through the marketplace, she was greeted by the sounds of people mingling around stalls and haggling for better prices. If she wasn’t on an errand, she might have stopped to gander at some of the wares.

Arcadia’s Cauldron was just to the side of the marketplace, and its inside was like a quiet refuge from the chaos of Whiterun’s trade center. Potions of various sizes and dozens of ingredients lined the shelves and the front counter, behind which Arcadia herself stood with her hands resting on its surface.

“Hmm, you look like you might have Ataxia. It’s a real problem back home in Cyrodiil,” she remarked as Soriana walked up to the counter. “I have the cure here if you’d like to purchase it.”

“I’m a student at the College,” Soriana replied, pulling the hood of her mage robes down. “I know what Ataxia looks like, and I’m pretty sure I don’t have it.”

Arcadia offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that, just trying to move some wares,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe how many people fall for that one.”

“I bet,” Soriana said with a small laugh. She slid the list of ingredients across to Arcadia. “I need to pick up these ingredients, if you have them.”

Arcadia examined the list closely, humming to herself as she did so. “Yes,” she said finally. “I should have all of the ingredients, but a few of them may take a few days to come in. If that’s alright.”

Soriana shrugged. “Don’t think I have much of a choice,” she said. “I’m just here because the College sent me.”

“Come back in three days,” Arcadia said, then turned around to start preparing the order.

“Can I just pick up a couple of vials while I’m here?” Soriana said, and Arcadia looked back to face her. “I think we also need more of those.”

“Sure.” After handing her the vials, Arcadia studied Soriana’s face closely. “You look familiar to me. Do I know you from somewhere?”

Soriana scooped up the vials and placed them in the bag she carried on her back. “Dragonborn. That’s me.”

As she exited the shop and made her way down the street, she didn’t notice the woman walking up ahead until she knocked into her and stumbled over. The vials spilled out of the top of Soriana’s bag, which she had forgotten to close shut, and fell to the ground.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the woman said and grabbed Soriana by the shoulders to steady her.

Soriana looked up and into the eyes of the most beautiful Nord woman she’d ever seen, immediately feeling her face heat up and her command over language falter. “I, uh…it’s okay,” she said with an awkward laugh. “It’s my fault. Should’ve watched where I was going.”

Soriana bent over and picked up the vials to inspect them. Luckily, none of them had cracked or broken in the fall. She placed them back in the bag and made sure to close it tight.

The Nord woman was watching her closely with a thoughtful expression. Once she’d stood up, Soriana could see how tall she really was, easily towering over her own short stature. Her reddish hair was cropped short, falling just below her ears, and her skin was fair and smooth. After realizing just how much she was noticing this woman’s features, Soriana darted her gaze away to look out towards the Wind District.

“I’m Ysolda,” the woman said.

Soriana turned to face her again. “Soriana,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You new to Whiterun as well?”

Soriana furrowed her brow, confused as to why Ysolda was so insistent on making conversation with her. “No, I um…I used to come to Whiterun a lot, but these days I just spend most of my time up at the College of Winterhold,” she said. “Studying. Magic. You know.”

A smile came across Ysolda’s face. “I can’t say I know too much about magic,” she said. “It’s a shame you’re not staying for long, then. I just moved to the hold and was hoping to make a few friends.”

 _Friends_. Soriana wanted to punch herself for caring so much about that little word. Of course someone as pretty as Ysolda wouldn’t be interested in her. She probably had dozens of suitors just lining up outside Whiterun’s gates for a chance to talk to her.

“Well I’m here for a few days waiting for an alchemy shipment to come in,” Soriana said cautiously. “So…maybe I’ll see you around.”

Ysolda’s smile grew wider. “I can only hope.”

Soriana waved goodbye and started to head towards the steps up to the Wind District and then on to Dragonsreach; she was certain that Jarl Balgruuf would want to see her while she was in town. She was so disoriented after her conversation with Ysolda, though, that she nearly knocked over an entire stall of goods while walking away.

* * *

Soriana had spent two full days in Whiterun and had yet to run into Ysolda again—not that she was paying attention or anything. She spent most of her two days schmoozing with Jarl Balgruuf’s court and walking around the city, taking in all the usual sights.

It wasn’t until the evening of that second day that they saw one another, when Soriana decided to step into the Bannered Mare for a drink. Inside, the inn was just as inviting and warm as it had ever been, with the fire crackling in the corner and the local bard, Mikael, serenading the crowd with his best songs.

Up by the counter, Ysolda was deep in a conversation with Hulda the innkeeper. Soriana froze when she saw her, then quickly snapped herself out of it and approached the bar to order a pint of mead. Hulda interrupted their conversation to greet Soriana.

“Hi there. What can I get you?” she said in her thick Nordic accent.

“Just a pint of mead. Honningbrew, if you’ve got it,” Soriana replied. 

While Hulda went to grab her drink, Ysolda studied Soriana with what looked almost like a coy smile on her face. “Good to see you again,” she said. “I was beginning to think you’d left the city after meeting me.”

“Oh, um.” Soriana laughed, trying to diffuse the tension she felt rising in herself. “No, still waiting on that shipment. Arcadia said it’ll be ready tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” Ysolda said. “Just enough time to have a drink with me.”

Ysolda ordered some wine for herself, then led Soriana to a spot by the fireplace. Sitting next to Ysolda on the stone bench, Soriana was careful not to get too close, keeping her legs pressed together.

“So what was your conversation with Hulda about?” Soriana asked. She kept her gaze on Ysolda as she raised her flagon to her lips. The mead was sweet going down her throat; she prayed it would give her more confidence.

Ysolda suddenly appeared bashful, her gaze moving down to where she held her drink. “Oh, I was just talking to her about innkeeping,” she said. “I’m hoping to run an inn of my own someday.”

“Wow, that sounds great,” Soriana said. She felt like her speech was awkward and forced, but Ysolda seemed to appreciate her words nonetheless. 

“Yeah?”

Soriana nodded. “Yeah.”

The two of them drank in quiet for a little while, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. Soriana felt more relaxed as she ingested more mead and found herself leaning in more towards Ysolda. To her surprise, the Nord didn’t move when their knees touched.

“I feel like I have a confession to make,” Soriana said.

Ysolda looked at her quizzically and with a small amount of alarm.

“I’m…the Dragonborn.” Soriana stared down at the wooden floorboards and traced a pattern with her foot. “Sometimes people recognize me, especially here, but when they don’t, I try not to bring it up.” She shrugged. “Seems like bragging or something.”

Ysolda didn’t look offended by this withholding of information. If anything, she seemed amused. “You mean to tell me I’ve been sitting next to the Dragonborn this whole time!” she laughed. “You’ve got to warn me about stuff like that.”

Soriana grinned. “My mistake.”

“Well, what do you do now that you’re…you know,” Ysolda said and gestured aimlessly. “A hero.”

“Mostly I just study at the College,” Soriana said and swallowed. It seemed somehow embarrassing to admit that she wasn’t off on some grand adventure all the time, like people would expect a hero to be. “I’m trying to master all the schools of magic. So far, I’ve gotten four down, but I still have one to go.”

“That’s quite impressive,” Ysolda said. “Gods, you make my dream of owning an inn seem like child’s play.”

Soriana shook her head vigorously. “No,” she said. She looked out at all the people filling the Bannered Mare with mirth and liveliness, clinking flagons as they traded stories from their days and reveled in the coziness of the inn. “This right here is one of my favorite places in Skyrim. Whiterun wouldn’t be the same without its inn.”

“I guess you have a point there,” Ysolda said and followed Soriana’s gaze out. “So, tell me more about studying magic.”

The rest of their conversation passed in a comfortable back and forth. Soriana told Ysolda of her studies at the College, her eccentric classmates and teachers, her frustrations with Restoration training. And Ysolda listened attentively, asking questions in all the right places and making jokes when welcome. It was like someone was finally listening to her real self and not revering her as the legendary Dragonborn. She felt…warm. All over.

Oh, she was _so_ screwed.

* * *

“For the last time I have _not_ been acting weird.”

Soriana whipped around in her desk chair to face the College’s apprentices, all three of whom were currently standing in the doorway of her room. J’zargo and Brelyna were on opposite sides of the door, leaning against the walls, while Onmund in the middle just a little behind them.

“J’zargo agrees that you are acting rather strange these days,” the Khajiit said, pointing an accusatory claw towards Soriana. Then he raised a contemplative paw to his chin. “Although, perhaps if you are not doing so well with your lessons, J’zargo has a better shot at becoming archmage…”

Brelyna reached over and socked him lightly on the arm, causing him to flinch and grip where she’d hit him. “Can it, J’zargo,” she said. “We’re here to help our friend, not take advantage of her…situation.”

Soriana threw her arms up in the arm. “I don’t have a situation,” she said bitterly. “I don’t know what the hell you guys are talking about.”

“Okay, consider this.” Brelyna stepped into the room. “One, you haven’t left your room since coming back from Whiterun except to train with Colette. Two, when you do leave, all you do is mope around. And three, you’ve been holed up in here trying to write a letter to someone which clearly has not be going well.” She pointed towards the pile of crumpled up parchment that littered Soriana’s desk and floor.

“I hate to say it, but Brelyna has a point,” Onmund piped up from the back. “We’re just trying to help, Soriana. We’re your friends. You’d tell us if something was wrong, right?”

“Yes, yes, of course I would,” Soriana said. 

She stared at the parchment in front of her. _Dear Ysolda_. What a dumb beginning. She’d surely hate it.

Soriana looked up at her three fellow students. “Look, I appreciate the concern, but I swear on the Nine Divines that I’m okay. Promise,” she said. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately. We can all practice spells together later or something if you aren’t too busy.”

“J’zargo practices alone.”

Brelyna delivered another punch to J’zargo’s forearm.

“Ow. Okay, J’zargo is fine with this studying arrangement.”

“We’re here if you need us, okay?” Brelyna said as the three apprentices turned to leave. Onmund nodded in agreement.

Once she was alone, Soriana let out a deep sigh and ripped up the letter-in-progress in front of her. Time to start over. Again.

Just as she was about to press her quill to the page, a crackling noise filled the room, and she darted her head up to see a swirling, purple doorway open up in the middle of the wall next to her bed. She let out a small shriek, then clamped a hand over her mouth as none other than Haskill opened the door and walked into her room.

“The mad prince requests your presence immediately,” Haskill said as he dusted off the front of his black tunic. “Please step into the portal after me. It would not be wise to ignore his summons.”

“Right,” Soriana muttered and watched in disbelief as Haskill turned to walk back through the doorway. 

Shaking her head, she stood up, took a deep breath, and stepped into whatever other realm awaited her.


	2. A Favor

When Soriana finished telling her story, Sheogorath was silent for several minutes, staring her with squinted eyes as if deep in thought. Around them, the mists grew thicker and swirled around in patterns that formed heart shapes, and Soriana’s flush deepened.

“Your Majesty—” Haskill started.

“So,” Sheogorath said with gusto as he cut Haskill off. He brought the Wabbajack in his hand down to strike the ground, and the grass that was hit turned into a bundle of worms squirming towards the sky; he looked down at them fondly as if they were his pets. “You’re in a spot of romantic trouble, eh? Ah, the woes of the young and flesh-bodied.”

Soriana scrunched up her forehead. “The young and the what now?”

“Here, have a spot of tea to make it all better,” he said, failing to answer the question. He snapped his fingers, and her empty cup filled to the top with a liquid that was bright pink in hue.

Soriana took a hesitant sip of her new cup of tea. It tasted like berries and some type of plant she had once ingested as part of an experiment at the College but couldn’t recall the name of.

“Have you considered giving her a token to show your affection?” Sheogorath said. “I find that my own fingers make excellent gifts. It shows devotion if you’re willing to cut off your limbs for them.”

“I…am not going to cut off a finger.”

Sheogorath leaned back in his throne and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well,” he said and shrugged. “I’m all out of ideas then.”

Haskill darted his gaze to look at Sheogorath, then back towards Soriana. “What about a favor?” he said.

“A favor! That’s brilliant, my dear Haskill.” Sheogorath clapped his hands in delight.

“A favor?” Soriana said. She took another sip of tea and found that the warm liquid was helping to soothe her nerves. 

“Yes, if she asks you do something nice for her, you should agree to do it,” Haskill explained. “Not that I particularly care about the feelings of mortals, but I have heard that they enjoy it when one does a favor for another.”

“Yes, yes, this is perfect,” Sheogorath said and kept nodding in agreement long after Haskill had finished speaking. “Now I remember why I keep you around, you big boring buffoon!”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So here’s what will happen, my favorite little mortal.” Sheogorath leaned his elbow on the table in front of him and propped up his chin as he fixed Soriana with a serious stare. “I’ll return you back to your world, where you’ll find your beloved and follow Haskill’s plan. Easy, peasy. Then you’ll have to promise me you’ll come for tea again. I really shouldn’t have to force you to visit, you know.”

Tea dribbled out of Soriana’s mouth and onto her chin as she fought the instinct to spit all of the liquid out at once. She swallowed, then started to protest. “Wait, no, what—”

“Now, off you go to win your dearest’s heart,” Sheogorath said with a wave of his arm. “Ta-ta!”

Before Soriana had a chance to even open her mouth, a brilliant purple light extended out from Sheogorath’s hand and enveloped her entire body. The light lifted her from her seat and transported her back to Nirn, where she was now supposed to somehow capture Ysolda’s heart.

* * *

During her next lesson with Colette, Soriana was pleased to find that she could now get a small, faint glow to form around her hand—especially if she was thinking about a certain red-headed Nord when she cast the spell.

“You’re making good progress, Soriana,” Colette remarked. “Seems like that trip to Whiterun really helped clear your mind.”

Soriana snapped her head up to look at Colette, the daydream she was having about her and Ysolda kissing passionately underneath the stars dissipating from her mind. With her concentration broken, the light she’d been nursing faded from her hand.

“Right,” she said, blinking a few times. “Yeah, it definitely did.”

Colette bent over to adjust her robe, and as she did, a piece of paper fluttered out of her pocket and onto the ground. Soriana squinted to get a better look at it and saw a list of potions and ingredients similar to the one she’d taken to Whiterun a week ago.

“Now that you’re starting to get on the right track, I’m thinking we’ll have you moving up to more complex healing spells and maybe a ward spell in a couple of weeks or so, and—”

“I’ll get them,” Soriana blurted out.

Colette raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”

“The ingredients you have on that paper there.” Soriana pointed at the paper that was now half-buried in the snow. “I’ll go back to Whiterun and get them. Just figured, you know, maybe another break would be good for my…studies.”

Now Colette was suspicious. “Uh huh,” she said with eyes narrowed.

Soriana nodded. “I know myself pretty well, Colette,” she said, growing in confidence. Her experiences playing diplomat as the Dragonborn had trained her well in the art of persuasion—at least when it counted. “If something helps me learn, it’s best not to question it. You saw how fast I learned all the other schools.”

“Alright, well…” Colette still seemed unsure, but she relented anyway with a sigh. “I guess you can go. It’ll save me a trip, anyway.”

Upon arriving in Whiterun for the second time in less than two months, Soriana didn’t even go to Arcadia’s first; instead, she headed straight for the marketplace. Midday meant that the stalls were flooded with people shopping and checking out the different wares, and it took her a few minutes to push her way to the center of the crowd. 

Her intuition rewarded her with Ysolda, who stood by Fralia Gray-Mane’s jewelry stand. The two of them appeared locked in an intense haggling battle that, judging by the look on Fralia’s face, the Gray-Manes were losing.

“There’s no way that necklace is worth five hundred Septims,” Ysolda was saying. “I’ve seen that same piece offered by the Khajiit traders for far less.”

“That’s because it was probably stolen, dear,” Fralia replied, but Soriana could tell that her willpower was beginning to slip.

“How could you say that? Just because they’re Khajiit doesn’t mean that they’re thieves!” Ysolda’s voice rose in volume, and she placed her hands on her hips in defiance. When Soriana came up and tapped her lightly on the shoulder, she held up the back of her hand. “Not now.”

“Oh, um.” Soriana’s mouth suddenly went dry. “Sorry.”

“Soriana?”

Ysolda turned around to face Soriana, and the grin that spread across her face made everything up to that point seem worth it. “How have you been?” she said. “I haven’t seen you around in so long, it feels like.”

“Yeah, I uh.” Soriana scratched the back of her neck; sweat pooled there the longer she was around Ysolda. “Had to go back to the College for a while.”

“I missed you,” Ysolda said, and Soriana felt her entire body grow warm. Ysolda brushed a piece of hair from her face. “Sorry you had to see me get heated back there. I just hate when people talk about the Khajiit traders like that. They’re actually very nice.”

“I’m sure they are, if they’re friends with you,” Soriana said and then immediately wanted to punch herself for being so cheesy. She swallowed to try and get rid of the dryness in her throat. “I have a good friend at the College who’s a Khajiit. Bit of a pain in the ass, but he’s a good guy.”

Ysolda laughed, a light and pretty sound that seemed to soar above the clouds. Soriana’s heart did a little flip.

What in the hell was wrong with her? Getting all fluttery over a godsdamned laugh.

Pathetic.

“You know, before my ma and da passed away, I always told them I’d be a great trader one day.” Ysolda had a wistful look on her face now, but it wasn’t sad. “There’s a lot I can learn from the Khajiit, I think. One of the caravan leaders, Ma’dran? He told me he could help me start my own trading business.”

“Wow,” Soriana said. “That’s great!”

“Yeah, but…” Ysolda trailed off and looked down at the ground. Soriana felt a sinking feeling build in her chest—it wasn’t like Ysolda to be so down or ashamed. “He said I’d have to give him a mammoth tusk in exchange, and I can’t exactly just go and get one. I’m not like you, I don’t have any fighting skills or anything to defend myself with.”

_“What about a favor?”_

_“A favor! That’s brilliant, my dear Haskill.”_

Haskill and Sheogorath's words rang through her mind and before she knew it, she was saying something she knew she’d probably live to regret:

“I could get one for you.”

* * *

Having spent most of the last year and a half holed up in the College studying and not actually using any of the spells she learned in practical combat, Soriana was apprehensive about stealing from a giant camp. She’d scouted one out in the plains near Whiterun, but it had taken her three days to work up the courage to actually attempt a mammoth tusk heist.

The plan, in theory, was simple: put on a cloaking spell, sneak into the camp, and steal the mammoth tusk. Then Ysolda would be so grateful she’d fall into Soriana’s arms, and they would ride off into the sunset like one of those romance novels J’zargo pretended he didn’t have stashed in his room.

But the reality of three giants and two massive wooly mammoths crawling around did not fully hit Soriana until she was within range of the camp. The mammoth tusk was on display in the center of a large crater that made up their camp, positioned so that the giants were effectively surrounding it at all times.

“Oh Gods,” Soriana muttered to herself. She rolled her eyes up towards the skies. “Divines help me.”

She said a quick prayer—although she figured she probably shouldn’t even trust the Divines after they dumped the whole Dragonborn thing on her—and cast two spells in rapid succession. The first made her footfalls completely silent, while the other made her body invisible from head to toe.

As she crept closer to the edge of the camp, she quieted her breathing and tried to tread as lightly as possible. One misstep would put her in almost immediate danger, considering the giants outnumbered her significantly and her reaction time wasn’t quite what it used to be back when she was a hero. How did she let herself get so rusty?

Soriana shook her head and focused on the mission in front of her. Sneak in, grab tusk, get out. Easy.

Two of the giants surrounded the mammoth tusk, while another had his back turned to the pair. The third giant was preparing some kind of fire by stacking large logs on wood on top of one another. Soriana snuck around the outer rim of the camp until she reached the side with the growing pile of firewood.

Step by step, she made her way through the gap between the pair of giants and their third companion. _This isn’t so bad,_ she thought. She had hope that maybe her crazy plan would work after all.

The mammoth task sat on top of a stump of wood like a shining beacon, and once it was within reach of Soriana, she stretched her arm out to grab it. It wasn’t quite close enough. She wiggled her fingers, trying to reach her arm further, but it was no use. So, she inched her way forward with her arm extended, grateful that the invisibility spell cloaked her so that there were no witnesses to how ridiculous she looked.

Just when she could theoretically get her fingers around the tusk, one of the giants turned around, plucked the tusk from its spot, and started walking away. He headed to the cave at the back of the camp, where he opened a wooden chest and placed the tusk inside of it.

Soriana froze, arm still outstretched, and silently cursed every deity and daedra that could possibly be listening to her. 

But there was no time to stand still like an idiot. Soriana turned course and snuck away from the one remaining giant around the center to head towards the cave. The temperature inside the cave was much cooler than outside of it, causing Soriana to shiver and wish she had thought to bring something warmer with her to Whiterun than her old mage robes. She breathed in the chilled air and tried to relax.

In front of her, the giant was just turning away from the chest to head back into the camp, and Soriana realized with a start that he was heading right past her. Her chest pounded as she moved backwards and molded herself to the wall of the cave, pressing as far back as she could go. As he passed her, just inches away from the front of her body, he paused for a moment as if he sensed something. Soriana gulped as she observed the massive wooden club clutched in the giant’s right hand, praying he wouldn’t look at her. Then he continued lumbering into the camp, and she peeled herself off the cave wall. 

When the cave was clear, Soriana crept over to the wooden chest and began to fiddle with the lock. Although she wasn’t proud to admit it, she’d learned a thing or two from Enthir, the College’s not-so-secret fence and thief. A few turns of the lockpick she kept stuffed in her robe pocket was enough to release the lock. It made a small clicking noise as it opened, but not enough to disturb the giants wandering outside. 

Inside was the mammoth tusk, gleaming once more like a bright star in this harrowing experience. Soriana reached inside and took it out to cradle in her hands for a few moments. After admiring the tusk, she slipped it inside her robe and closed the chest as quietly as possible. Now it was time to sneak back out.

Without the cover of the cave, Soriana was hit with the warm rays of the sun as she stepped into the camp again. Slinking around two of the giants still milling around the center—the third was still preoccupied with the campfire—she managed to get one foot out of the crater and onto the plains of Whiterun. She’d done it. She had gotten the mammoth tusk, and the thought of Ysolda’s grateful smile when she handed her the prize was going to be _so_ worth it. Turning back one more time towards the camp, Soriana grinned. 

And that was when the invisibility spell wore off.

Soriana looked down to see her robes were visible once more. “Oh fuck,” she said without thinking.

The three massive and terrifying giants turned to look at her all at once, heads moving in slow motion as they processed the stranger that had somehow infiltrated their camp. Before she had time to think or cast a spell, the giant on the far left was charging at her with a club raised high in the air. 

Soriana’s first instinct was to run—so she turned around and started sprinting back towards Whiterun. Behind her, the giant’s steps created mini earthquakes with each footfall, and the shadow beside her grew closer at an alarming rate. She turned around and fired off a shout in his direction.

“FUS. RO. DAH.”

As her Thu’um rippled across the plains, flattening blades of grass in its wake, the giant stumbled back and stopped for a minute to rub his head in confusion. Soriana took the opportunity to start running again—but as soon as she took off, another giant that had been waiting in the wings came forward to bring his club down to the ground.

“Oh, motherFUCKER,” she said just before the club whacked her up to the sky.

The force sent Soriana flying into the air with limbs flailing in all directions. In that moment of free fall, she had a realization that this whole heist probably wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had, as she was now more in danger of dying by the hands of a giant than she ever did at the hands of Alduin, the godsdamned _World-Eater._

Her landing was more of a crash than a soft fall, as she hit her back and felt something crunch that sounded a lot like bones. Eyes half-closed, she stared up at the sky to where the clouds looked like they all had clones and were dancing in circles around one another. Then the world spun once more before going black.

* * *

Sheogorath hated Morndas at 7:36 in the evening. Every week at that time, a horde of Argonian concubines would show up to his throne room in the Shivering Isles and start bothering him. They would disrupt the dinner party he was hosting with the Duke and Duchess of his realm and begin jumping up on the table and smashing glasses. Sometimes the horker who lived at the base of his palace would sneak in through the chaos and play an off-tune song on a lute that drove him nearly, well, mad.

That particular Morndas was about to become even worse. During the fifteenth course at dinner, Haskill broke the news to him that Soriana had been severely injured in her pursuit of everlasting love.

“I’m afraid she’s terribly hurt, Your Majesty,” Haskill said. His lips were pulled down in a slight frown, which was an unusual amount of emotion for the normally stoic chamberlain. “She was knocked unconscious by a giant.”

Sheogorath started to shake. Then he pounded the table three times with his mighty daedric fist (which was more powerful than a normal fist) to get everyone’s attention. They all stopped immediately to turn and face their master, who told them to scram.

“Everyone out,” he bellowed. “GET. OUT.”

Once everyone scattered from the hall, Sheogorath snapped his fingers to summon a piece of paper, a ballpoint pen with a pom-pom on the end, and an envelope with strange symbols and constellations on it.

“Sir…please forgive me.” Haskill walked around to where Sheogorath was starting to scribble lines on the paper with alarming speed. “But shouldn’t we be making sure she’s okay?”

“Yes, yes, we’ll get to that, Haskill,” Sheogorath responded with a dismissive flick of his hand.

“Then what in Oblivion _are_ you doing?”

Despite his occasional fits of passion, Sheogorath almost always had a hint of silliness and whimsy in his expression. But in that moment, as he glanced up to stare Haskill in the eyes, he fixed him with the most serious look he could muster.

“If Soriana is in too much pain to tell her beloved how she feels,” he said. “Then I’ll just have to do it myself.”

Haskill sighed. “Which means…?”

“I’m writing a letter on her behalf. It’s time I had a few words with this Ysolda.”


	3. A Letter

“Dragonborn?”

When Soriana woke up, the dim glow from the lamps that dangled on the rafters above burned her eyes at first. After a few moments of adjusting to the light, her vision began to clear, and she realized she had no idea where in Oblivion she was. 

She was lying on a cot. Her body, covered up to her stomach with a brown fur blanket, had been covered in gauze, bandages, and splints of varying sizes. A couple of the bandages had blood stains that soaked through the fabric. As she turned her head to the right, she noticed a bright purple bruise on her arm—and a woman in plain, orange-and-yellow robes.

Wrinkles and stress lines deepened in her face as she frowned down at Soriana, but she didn’t appear unkind. Behind her, statues of some Divine were scattered throughout the entire room, and when the light filtered through the windows to hit them, they shone for a brief moment.

The woman in robes reached out to lay a gentle hand on Soriana’s arm. 

“Easy now,” she said. “You’ve taken quite the beating.”

Soriana looked into her eyes.

“Who the hell are you?”

The woman’s expression remained unchanged, but her hand moved away. “I’m a priestess of Kynareth. Danica Pure-Spring.” She paused and turned her gaze towards one of Soriana’s bandages, which looked like it needed to be changed. “Some of the Companions found you unconscious outside the city limits and brought you here. I’ve been taking care of you for a few days now.”

“Oh,” Soriana said. She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. It’s all in service of Kynareth,” Danica said as she started to unravel the bandage. As she peeled it back, Soriana bit down on her tongue to keep from shouting at the sight of the deep cut underneath. 

“My name is Soriana, by the way,” she said. “Not just Dragonborn.”

A faint smile passed Danica’s lips. “I know that,” she said. “You’re basically a legend around here, though. Thought I should show you the proper respect a hero of our people deserves.”

Danica pressed down on the bruise that covered Soriana’s right arm, this time with both hands, and closed her eyes. She breathed in through her nose. When she opened her eyes again, a strong glow swirled around her touch, and a cooling sensation seeped into the bruised skin.

“Gods, how are you so good at this shit?” Soriana said and sighed. “I can barely cast a simple healing spell.”

Danica pressed a finger to her heart. 

“It’s all in here,” she said, as if this warranted no explanation.

Soriana gave her a blank stare in response.

“When I recognize that someone else needs help more than I do, I’m able to gather all my compassion and channel it into healing energy,” Danica said. “It’s about caring for living things.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Soriana said, remembering what Colette had told her during the lesson that brought her to Whiterun to begin with, that she had to start truly caring about someone other than herself if she ever wanted to master Restoration.

Well, there was someone she cared about out there. The only problem was that Soriana had no idea where she was, and she’d done a good job of making a mess of things.

As she turned her head away from Danica, an end table near her bed caught her gaze. It was wooden, and the legs holding it up looked unsteady. But on top of it was a gleaming, white, giant mammoth tusk.

“Wait, is that a mammoth tusk over there?” A delirious smile stretched across her face. She slid her hands closer in line with her body so she could push herself up. “I have to see this.”

Danica’s eyes widened, and she held up two hands, warning Soriana to stop what she was about to do. “I don’t think you should—”

Every bone and muscle in Soriana’s body screamed as she sat up, and she unleashed a string of curses that made all the priestesses in the temple turn to look at her and blush. A few seconds later, she lowered herself back down onto the bed. She looked up at Danica.

“Please don’t say I told you so.” 

Danica just laughed and shook her head before starting to rub some sort of potion onto her arm. “Your friend said she thought it might be meant for her. Seems like she felt too guilty to take it with her, though.”

“My…friend?” Soriana’s voice cracked.

“Yes, tall Nord woman. Red hair,” Danica said. “She’s been in here lots of times since you were brought to us.”

“Huh,” Soriana said. 

She turned her head to face the walls of the temple and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. It didn’t keep the huge grin from spreading across her face and staying there well past when Danica had finished with her healing spell and left for the afternoon.

* * *

Soriana spent the rest of the afternoon in between being awake and resting, dozing through most of Danica’s check ups. The healing sessions left her drained of energy, and there was only so much she could do to keep her eyes open.

When the sun finally set for the evening, the temple grew quiet but not uncomfortably so. Candles around the shrines and tables flickered and cast everything in a soft glow. Soriana glanced up towards the window closest to her and found that if she looked hard enough, she could see a brilliant red moon that shone brighter than the night sky around it. 

A figure approached her bedside and brought her gaze back down to her surroundings, where she caught Ysolda’s eye. Her heart leapt into her throat. Somehow, even in the low lighting, Ysolda looked more beautiful than ever.

“Ysolda,” Soriana said, hesitant. “Hi.” 

Ysolda smiled softly at her. “Hey,” she said. She shifted from one foot to the other, darting her gaze away. “I’m glad you’re doing alright. You were out of it for a few days.”

Soriana shimmied a little on her bed, to show she was totally not hurt at all, and winced as pain shot through her body. “Yeah,” she said through a grimace. “I’m doing okay.”

“I’m really sorry you got hurt. Because of me.” Ysolda looked over towards the mammoth tusk then back at Soriana. 

“It wasn’t anything I didn’t want to do,” Soriana said.

“Soriana—”

“I’m serious,” Soriana said. “It’s…different when you’ve already been close to death before.”

Something in Ysolda’s face shifted—it became gentler, kinder—and she placed her palm on the bed where Soriana’s hand lay over the blanket. Warmth flooded into her fingers and ran upwards like a current.

“Alduin?” Ysolda said.

“Yeah.” Soriana kept her eyes on the ceiling, watching a candle flicker in its lamp. “I still have nightmares about it sometimes. I’ll see his face, and he’ll speak dragon tongue to me. Or he’ll shoot flames until I can feel the fire in my bones, burning me alive from the inside out, and I’ll wake up in a sweat.”

Ysolda squeezed her hand. “I can’t imagine what that must be like,” she said. “You’ve done so much. I feel like I’m so dull and unaccomplished in comparison.” A weak laugh escaped her.

Soriana offered a close-lipped smile. “Are you kidding me?” she said. “I couldn’t sell an addict a bottle of skooma even if I tried.” Then she swept her thumb across the skin of Ysolda’s hand, so quick and unconscious she didn’t even realize she’d done it at first. “I’m serious, Ysolda. You have so much to offer the world and…the people that care about you in it.”

Ysolda studied her face for a long time, searching, gazing. There was something in the look she gave Soriana that made the latter feel like she was basking in sunlight. She opened her mouth, feeling a confession bubbling to the surface.

A twitch in her leg caused Soriana to move a little too much, too fast, and she felt a cramp form in her muscles. She groaned and shut her eyes, while Ysolda jumped up from the bed.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Can you get me one of those red potions from over there?” Soriana said, flailing her hand around as she tried to point towards the potions, which rested on a long table towards the back of the temple, while controlling the cramp in her leg. “Should help the pain.”

Ysolda retrieved the potion from the table and returned to the bed side. She uncapped the bottle with a pop. Soriana opened her mouth, allowing Ysolda to tilt the contents of the potion into her mouth. It always tasted terrible, but damn did it make her bruises and bones and cuts hurt less.

Soriana wiped her lips after she was done. “Thank you,” she said.

“Of course,” Ysolda said.

Then they were back in that weird space, where it felt like both of them had something to say but weren’t going to be the first to break the tense silence that had built up. 

“I should go home. Let you get some rest,” Ysolda finally said, clearing her throat.

Soriana turned her head back so it was centered on her pillow and nodded, trying not to let her disappointment show. “Right, yeah,” she said with a laugh. “Sleep is important for getting better, I guess.”

Ysolda gave her one last lingering look.

“Goodnight, Soriana,” she said.

The sound of Ysolda’s steps echoing along the temple floors haunted Soriana as she turned towards the ceiling and tried to fall asleep.

* * *

Danica arrived at Soriana’s bedside early the next morning to check on her injuries. After examining one of her bruises, she made a pleased noise.

“This one looks better,” she said.

She wiggled her fingers a little and placed her hands on Soriana’s mid-chest—where she had apparently broken several ribs—to cast a healing spell. The cooling energy ran through Soriana’s whole body and relaxed her muscles. She closed her eyes, giving in to the temptation to drift off into sleep.

Footsteps marching up to the bed interrupted both Soriana’s zen state and Danica’s healing spell. Soriana popped her eyes open, while Danica sprang back to let the intruder come through.

It was Ysolda, who came bearing an angry look and a letter. She shoved it into Soriana’s hands.

“Okay, I need an explanation,” she said. “Why did you send me this?”

Soriana frowned. “I didn’t.”

Ysolda huffed and shook her head. “I just want to know what in Oblivion this is even supposed to _mean._ ”

Soriana turned the letter over in her hands. The envelope was decorated with a series of constellations that had strange symbols in between them. Soriana stared at the symbols for a while but couldn’t make sense of what they meant. It looked like the ramblings or made up language of a madman. 

That’s when she realized who had written the letter. That bastard.

She opened the envelope, pulled out the piece of parchment, and unfolded it to read the contents.

_Dearest Ysolda, the fairest maiden of all,_

_Does the sun set anymore? I think it does. Sometimes it does not. It will sometimes shine on your face. Face—yours is quite nice. If I ever made your skin into a hat, I’d wear it every day. Here is a poem I have written about you:_

_Roses are red,_  
_Baliwogs are gold._  
_I would like to spend time with you_  
_Before I get old_  
_And my flesh starts to melt off_  
_My skin like leaves in_  
_Autumn._

_In conclusion, I think I have fallen in love, that silly little thing mortals such as myself like to do. A passionate evening would be the way to end the war of my heart. Please RSVP._

_Love,  
Soriana_

“Oh, my God. What the _fuck._ ” 

The letter trembled in her shaking hands. By the time she mustered the courage to look at Ysolda, her face felt like been stuck into a fire. The blaze in Ysolda’s eyes had died down somewhat, but she still looked as if she wanted answers.

“I didn’t write this,” Soriana said. “I swear.”

“Then why is it signed by you?” Ysolda said. She sighed, shoulders relaxing down her back, then sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m just so confused. Why are you always like this?”

Sensing a need for privacy—and an impending conversation that would be quite awkward to witness—Danica slowly backed away and left to go treat another patient; across the room lay an injured Imperial soldier who had been wounded in a skirmish outside Whiterun.

Soriana opened her mouth and closed it a few times. “I—what—”

“You’re always giving me so many mixed signals.” Ysolda rolled her eyes upwards and placed her hands on the bed. “Sometimes I think you return my feelings, and then other times you just do stuff like…write whatever that was.”

Soriana’s heart leapt out of her chest and just about launched itself to the top of the temple. 

“Your feelings?”

Ysolda snapped her head around to look at Soriana with her eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “Well. I, um.” She cleared her throat. “You know what, yes. I do, maybe possibly, have feelings for you. But that doesn’t mean this still isn’t an issue for me because—okay, what are you doing now?”

She stopped when she realized Soriana was moving and trying to hoist herself up. Letting out an extended groan, Soriana was able to get into a sitting position, where she then shimmied her way towards Ysolda. When she reached the end of the bed, her body inches away from Ysolda’s, she—in a move that surprised even herself—grabbed the sides of her face and yanked her in for a kiss.

Ysolda froze, leaving Soriana feeling a bit embarrassed at having been so forward. But within moments, she started to kiss her back, placing gentle hands on her shoulders. She leaned forward, deepening their embrace and pressing slowly forward so that Soriana started to sink back onto the bed. Soriana brought her hands up to run through Ysolda’s hair as she let out a soft moan.

“I’m back for another healing—oh, dear.”

Danica stopped just short of the bed, where Ysolda and Soriana were still completely entangled with one another. The words spoken registered somewhere in Soriana’s mind, but she ignored it and continued to press her lips to Ysolda’s, thinking she might just float away into the clouds.

Two more coughs from Danica’s direction was enough to snap both of them out of it, and Ysolda jumped away from Soriana and scrambled to the other side of the bed. A flush covered her cheeks, and her breath was labored. Soriana had never seen her look so disheveled, with her hair mussed and her lips red and swollen (she liked it, though.)

“I’m so sorry, Danica,” Ysolda said. 

Soriana wasn’t sorry. She grinned at Ysolda, feeling giddy and happy and possibly a little bit dizzy. “Danica, can you give us another moment, please?”

Danica sighed but complied with the request. She ducked away to examine her stocks of potions.

Ysolda looked at Soriana, expectant but also hopeful. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Soriana said. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you about it. I was just…embarrassed.”

Ysolda smiled back. “Well, I’m glad you said something.” She stared down at her lap, where she fiddled with her hands. “So, who did write that letter then?”

“Are you familiar with the daedra by any chance?”

* * *

Upon her return to the College of Winterhold, the apprentices cornered Soriana in the main courtyard. The three of them stood in front of her, arms crossed over their chests, ready for interrogation.

“We thought you had died or something,” Onmund said.

Brelyna snorted. “Yeah, seriously. You couldn’t have sent a letter or something?” 

“Even J’zargo admits to having felt a small amount of concern for your mysterious absence.”

“I mean, I did almost die. Sort of,” Soriana said with a sheepish grin. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

“I promise I’ll tell you all later, but.” Soriana smiled. “I think I’m two weeks late for a training session with Colette.”

Once she returned to her lessons, Soriana and Colette were both surprised at how quickly she was able to pick her studies back up. When Soriana progressed to the point where she could cast complex healing and undead repellant spells, Colette praised her abilities as a mage, but Soriana suspected she knew something had happened when she took those trips to Whiterun. It was hard to miss all of Soriana’s smiles and good moods since she returned to the College.

Although Colette was often reluctant to hand out praise, she had to acknowledge Soriana’s improvements. “You’ve gotten much better,” she said one afternoon. “Look who’s finally come around to the idea of Restoration as a valid school of magic.”

Soriana lowered her hands, which had been raised by her sides. As she did so, the steady circle of light that enveloped her faded away. 

“Turns out it was all in here the whole time,” Soriana said, half-joking, as she pointed to her heart.

Colette gave her an amused glance, then said, “I think you’re ready to move on to your master ritual soon.”

A grin spread across Soriana’s face, so wide she thought her face might split open. 

After her lesson, Soriana sat down at the desk in her room and pulled a wilted flower out of her robe pocket. She tapped it twice, watched its petals unfurl. When she touched it again, a stem emerged from the bottom of the center, and she placed the flower down on the side of her desk surface. From her desk drawer, she retrieved a blank piece of parchment and began to write.

_Dear Ysolda,_

_I promise this letter is from me and not penned by a certain daedric prince who loves to meddle more than he should. I’m writing to tell you that I’ve nearly finished my Restoration master ritual and will be able to say that I’m a master of all five schools of magic pretty soon._

_After I’m done with the ritual, I’m planning on leaving the College to move back to Whiterun. I’ve enjoyed my time here, but I know there’s somewhere else I’d much rather be. Or, more accurately, there’s someone else I want to see. How does meeting at the Bannered Mare sound?_

_Love,  
Soriana_

Soriana leaned back in her desk chair, stretched her arms overhead, and smiled. She placed her quill next to the piece of parchment she’d written her letter on, then looked out the small window in her room. Outside, the snow swirled in little flurries. In the howl of their winds, she thought she heard something like a mad prince’s delighted laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading and playing along with this fun little story! I had a blast working on this project, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did :) Feel free to leave any feedback/reactions/whatever else below, if you're so inclined. Otherwise, thank you again for checking out my work


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